When We Were Little

When I was a little girl, my grandparents lived on a farm. Visits there were glorious fun for me and my siblings. I can remember making forts out in the grove. Under the canopy of great elm trees, we would set up a little house. With the plum thicket as the back wall, we would set up wooden crates as our cupboards. Sometimes we would even add little pieces of cloth for the cupboard doors. Large leaves made great slices of bread or pie crusts, and a little mud and crushed berries the perfect jam or filling. We would serve “tea,” inviting Grandma to join us at our little table that was actually a large stump from a felled tree. We would prepare “lunch” to take to Grandpa in the field. Little children, modeling life as they had experienced it.

When she was a little girl, she was raised on the reservation. She and her siblings and cousins would play together, creating a liquor store from the cans and bottles they found in the ditch. Selections ranged from Pabst Blue Ribbon to Jack Daniels with everything in between. Little single shots, empty cans, glass bottles. One would be the cashier, the others would come to make their purchases. Little children, modeling life as they had experienced it.

Waking up, I could smell the coffee wafting back to my room. Somehow, a gentle assurance that all was right with the world. My dad was always the first one up. With a family of seven, four of them girls, my dad would get up at the crack of dawn to beat the rush in our only bathroom. As I roused from sleep and stumbled out to wait my turn in the bathroom, he could always be found in his recliner . . . a mug of warm coffee in hand, Paul Harvey on the radio. All was right with the world.

Waking up, she would stumble out to get ready for the day. There was no smell of coffee, rather the stench of stale cigarette smoke. There was no dad in the recliner, rather a man—who was not her father—lying naked on the couch, watching porn, hollering at her to bring him another beer. All was not right with the world.

As I lay in bed at the end of the day, the peace and quiet of the still house calmed me and the gentle whir of the oscillating fan gently lulled me to sleep. I had had a snack and brushed my teeth, Mom and Dad had come to tuck me in and say goodnight. I shared a bed with my sister, and sometimes she would ask me to sing her a song and I would make up a sweet little song that I would sing quietly in the still of the night. Drifting off to sleep, we could rest easy, knowing that in the morning there would be the smell of coffee and Paul Harvey.

As she and her brothers lay in bed at the end of the day, they could hear the door opening and closing. People gathering. The conversation growing louder and more raucous as the alcohol began to take its effect. They would lay in bed, betting with each other on how long it would be until the cops showed up. There was some fun competition in it . . . also a little trepidation. Sometimes, it wasn’t just a warning. Sometimes, mom would be taken away. Sometimes, child protective services would come on the heels of the cops, to come upstairs and take them away. And so, it was a bet you didn’t really want to win. They tried to get some rest, having no idea what the morning would bring.

“Start children off on the way they

should go, and even when they are old

they will not turn from it.”

Proverbs 22:6 NIV

“All your children will be taught by the

Lord, and great will be their peace.”

Isaiah 54:13 NIV

“Oh, that their hearts would be

inclined to fear me and keep

all my commands always, so that

it might go well with them

and their children forever!”

Deuteronomy 5:29 NIV